


Keeping Your Head Up

by countingpaths



Series: Baby Artemis Adventures [2]
Category: Artemis Fowl - Eoin Colfer
Genre: Birthday Adventures, Canon Compliant, Gen, Grumpy baby, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:20:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26307706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/countingpaths/pseuds/countingpaths
Summary: Little Artemis's first birthday.
Series: Baby Artemis Adventures [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1911325
Comments: 8
Kudos: 51





	Keeping Your Head Up

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the birdy song cause I listened to it while writing, it doesn't mean anything :) I wanted to show their daily routine, how it begins and ends the same, and chose a special day to showcase.

Light shone through a crack in the heavy curtains, a single ray of morning sunlight falling across the nursery as Butler entered. The morning nanny was sitting dutifully near the crib, reading a light novel as she waited for a bottle of milk to warm in the pot of hot water on the table across the room and the child in the crib at her side to awake. She had arrived three hours prior to relieve the five hour shift during which Butler was the child’s only provider. This had allowed him to take a brief but energizing nap at his lodge on the premises. 

The nanny did not glance up as he crossed the plush carpet, scanning the room to ensure all was as it should be. She was accustomed to the giant Eurasian man’s presence, having been employed by the household for a year now.

One year. It was September 1st, and Artemis had been Butler’s principal for exactly one year. The bodyguard opened the blackout curtains, allowing a flood of light into the dim nursery as he glanced outside to ensure all was well from his vantage point. Assured that there would be no attempt on the child’s life for the moment, Butler allowed himself to relax. None would have ever guessed that the man was relaxed, for he still appeared as deadly serious as a snow leopard in the moment before it pounces. But as he approached the crib and peered at the child tucked within, his heart softened dangerously. This feeling was dangerous because a bodyguard who is distracted by the sweet face of a sleeping baby is not a very good bodyguard. But the man could not help but take a moment to feel the warmth in his chest. Little Artemis was content in his sleep, his usual frown lines wiped away by whatever fairy dreams danced in his head. Despite a whole year of growth, Artemis was still pocket sized compared to his large bodyguard. His wispies had become a full head of soft black hair, like the fluffy down of a duckling.

Butler almost did not want to wake him from his peaceful sleep. Luckily, he would not be the one completing that particular task. He tore his gaze from the child. “Angeline would like him in the new--” he paused for a brief moment to recall the madam’s directions--” _cornflower_ blue sweater.” 

The nanny put aside her book and frowned. “Not the navy one? It would match his eyes…”

The bodyguard said nothing, though he agreed that navy was a more complementary shade.

She sighed and got to work, pulling a _cornflower_ blue knit sweater from the old oak wardrobe, which looked more appropriate for a C.S. Lewis novel than a young child’s nursery. All of the decor was dark, rich oak, while the plush persian carpet was a dark red, interwoven with an intricate golden pattern. Butler knew that if one were to look closely, perhaps while accompanying an infant in unauthorized floor time, they would notice that the pattern depicted a golden hunting hound chasing a golden unicorn, kaleidoscoping across the whole carpet.

When the outfit was laid out, the nanny began to carefully prepare the sleeping child. It is a well-known fact that babies do not like being undressed, as they become cold easily, and that is why this was a tried and true method of waking up a young one who would much rather remain blissfully in fairy land. Sure enough, Artemis began to fuss, shifting and rubbing at his eyes before finally opening them. The astute baby squinted at his nanny, his features quickly settling into his typical stern expression. She hurriedly pulled the sweater over his head and tucked his arms through the correct holes as Artemis began to babble in his way. 

Artemis’s babble was quite different from that of other babies at the fresh age of one year. While he did not yet _entirely_ speak english, he did seem to have developed his own distinct combination of english and nonsense. He’d had a long time to practice, as he had begun to babble at one month and had been perfecting the art ever since. He now used several recognizable english phrases, such as _hungry now, please_ , _is it bedtime?_ , and _please, book_. Most babies were not so polite or eloquent, and this habit was a bit disconcerting to his caretakers. He also had unique names for the people in his life, such as _Mama_ , _Fah_ , and _Bubba_. These were his mother, father, and Butler, respectively. Though his mastery of the english language was incomplete, Artemis understood much more than he let on. 

At the moment, he was grumbling, peeved at having been awoken. Artemis had, in fact, been dreaming of fairies as Butler had imagined. His favorite blanket was a dark green quilt embroidered with golden fairies, and he often dreamed that they flew in through his window and danced about his nursery until he climbed from his crib and followed them to their burrow under the hill. Artemis could not remember his dreams when he woke, but he knew that they were pleasant, and being dressed in semi-formal baby clothes was not.

With sweater on and outfit nearly complete, the nanny paused to give the fussy baby a quarter bottle of milk, which he finished off calmly as she wrangled his little feet into socks and brown baby loafers. He would have a more filling continental breakfast later. 

“There you go,” she said, taking the empty bottle that he offered and placing it to the side. “All ready for your big day.” The nanny lifted Artemis from his crib. Butler stepped forward to take over, and Artemis’s dark blue eyes widened at the sight of his bodyguard. “Bubba, carry, please,” he said simply, reaching out. 

Butler complied, gently taking Artemis from the nanny’s arms. It was easy enough to hold the tiny child with one arm, as mothers often did, sitting snugly at his side. Artemis could toddle through the manor--he had acquired this skill at six months--but he tired quickly and much preferred to be ferried about. Thus, _Bubba, carry, please_ was one of his most frequently used phrases.

“Good morning, Artemis,” Butler spoke amiably to the child as they left the nursery. “You had good dreams, I hope.” 

Artemis babbled in his personal language as they crossed through the second floor of the house. While his bodyguard was not fluent in babble, he understood the gist of it, and peppered in a few, _Really?_ ’s and _ah, I see_ ’s for the child’s sake. 

Suddenly, Artemis paused and turned to gaze up at Butler, curious as to the nature of their morning errand. Butler glanced down and noticed his inquisitive expression.

“We’re going to your parents’ room. Your mother wants to see you first thing on your birthday,” he answered. Artemis brightened at the word _mother_. Like all babies, he adored his mother above all others. 

Butler paused outside the master bedroom’s door and rapped his knuckles lightly against the oak. A moment later the door was opened by a maid who stepped aside for the bodyguard to enter. 

“Oh, Arty!” Angeline’s voice rang out. “Come here, dear!”

She was enveloped by the cushions on her four-poster bed, picking at a breakfast platter. The bed was draped in silks, and Angeline resembled the queen of France in her extravagant pink dressing gown.

“Mama,” Artemis cooed, reaching towards his mother. Butler crossed the room and dutifully deposited the child in his mother’s arms.

“Arty, little Arty,” she cooed back, holding him up so that he stood upon the comforter over her thighs. “You’re such a big boy now! Where’s my little baby?” 

Artemis beamed in his sweet way, smiling with his lips pressed tightly together. Butler was not sure why his principal did not deliver typical wide, gummy baby smiles, but then again, Artemis was not a typical baby. Perhaps he was aware that his lack of teeth made it more difficult to take him seriously. 

Angeline sat him on the bed next to her. “And your new sweater looks so nice,” she doted, tugging at his collar to straighten it. “You’re all ready for photos.”

The baby babbled in response. He tilted forward and tried to pull himself to standing on a pillow, intending to return to his mother’s arms, but it was not quite as sturdy as he’d expected, and he wobbled face first into the whole mountain of pillows. Angeline laughed in delight, rescuing Artemis from where he wiggled, drowning in down-stuffed silk. He was now both embarrassed and terribly cross, and his sweet face grew dark with one of his signature frowns.

“Aww,” Angeline tittered, barely concealing her laughter at his dour expression. “Come here, sweetheart.” She gathered him in her arms, holding him close against her chest, and the baby wrapped his pudgy arms around her neck for comfort, pacified by having at least achieved his original goal.

The maid emerged from the open bathroom. “Your bath is ready, ma’am.”

“Alright, Arty, dear,” Angeline said. “Go on and have your breakfast. Mum has to get ready for your birthday party.” She untangled Artemis’s arms from her golden hair and returned him to Butler, and the two set off to prepare for the day.

\--

“Just in time, eh?” Artemis Senior said, slipping into the banquet hall. Gothic arches had once soared above medieval feasts in the imposing room, but some hundred years before a false ceiling had been installed with its own formidable oaken beams. Most days it was a conference hall for Artemis Senior’s business meetings. Today, it was decorated for a birthday party. 

Balloons arched across the hall, much like the original Gothic arches. Vases of fresh flower arrangements sat atop the glass banquet table. There was a buffet table of finger food, alcohol, and one gorgeous three-tiered cake, and a second table adorned with presents. About half of these were from the guests, while the other half were from Angeline herself. 

Angeline’s friends from her women’s philanthropy club milled about, chatting and sipping on champagne. Their husbands also mingled, many of them business associates of Artemis Senior. The birthday boy himself was being passed around, shadowed by his bodyguard. This party was much more _intimate_ than Angeline had originally desired, but the British infant mental health counselor that the family frequently consulted over the phone had suggested a large event might be overwhelming for the stress-prone baby. Thus, the slightly smaller banquet.

Artemis Senior dumped his coat off on a butler and began making his way through the hall, sharing a few amiable words with each guest who stopped him as he moved toward his wife. He had been on a business trip to New York City and weather had delayed his return flight. While he had apologized profusely to Angeline over the phone, he was secretly glad he had missed the morning photoshoot. His wife’s favorite photography team had taken Artemis Junior’s newborn and six months photos, and their tastes were a bit whimsical for the shrewd businessman. There was plenty of time for a formal family portrait, one that could be displayed proudly over the fireplace in his study. 

He reached his wife, who was entertaining a friend with a funny little story about Artemis the Second’s hatred of tickles, and snagged her by the waist.

“Oh!” she shrieked, and Artemis Senior laughed. 

“Sorry, dear, I didn’t mean to surprise you,” he apologized, planting a kiss on her forehead. Angeline looked stunning, as always, with her golden curls cascading over her collarbones. She wore a houndstooth long sleeve and navy blue tulle skirt, cinched at the waist by a golden belt, to match the party theme. All of the decorations and even the cakes--for there were two--adhered to the navy and gold theme. Even little Artemis’s _cornflower_ blue sweater had been swapped for the _navy_ one after the morning photos. 

Angeline smacked his chest. “I know you did, you scoundrel,” she scolded, eliciting a chuckle from her guilty husband. 

“Where is he?” he asked, prompting a raised eyebrow from his wife.

“I don’t know, Timmy, where do you think?” she teased. The giant Eurasian man who towered over the other guests was not exactly easy to miss. 

“Ah, very funny,” Artemis Senior grinned. He kissed his wife once more, on the lips this time, before striding off towards the admittedly obvious location of his son. Angeline turned back to her friend to continue the amusing tales of little Artemis’s antics. She could not know, but might have suspected, the jealousy that many of the guests felt for the Fowl’s lifestyle. Afterall, here was a perfectly gorgeous young couple living in a late medieval castle with a handsome baby and billions to their family name. They were the closest thing the Republic of Ireland had to modern royalty, and possessed twice as much wealth in concrete assets as the famed royal family across the Irish sea. 

If Angeline did not consciously acknowledge her power, Artemis Senior certainly did. He carried himself through the room with the confidence of a man on top of the world, and even his business partners shifted subconsciously to make a path for the Fowl patriarch, who smiled and shook hands all the way. 

He found his namesake being bounced soothingly in the arms of a brunette, the wife of a local art dealer, who appeared to be introducing him to another young child. A ring of guests were chuckling at the babies’ baffled expressions. In fact, they had been attempting for a good five minutes to coax a smile from Artemis, who was feeling extremely shy in the presence of so many strangers. Additionally, he had only interacted with a handful of other babies in his short life, during mother-organized playdates. He had never found these experiences particularly enjoyable or fun, as other babies were largely incoherent and possessed primitive taste in amusement. Artemis did not _actually_ think this, of course, as he was only a year old. But rest assured, those were the words he would’ve used if his vocabulary had been large enough to accommodate his surprisingly complex ideas. 

Presently, he was staring disdainfully at a nearly bald six-month-old, and being uncomfortably jostled about by someone who had once greatly offended him with tickles. Butler was watching the group like a hawk to ensure the child’s physical well-being, but would not step in unless Artemis began to fuss. Luckily, his father had arrived to save him.

“There you are, Arty boy!” Artemis Senior exclaimed, slipping into the circle. Artemis twisted around in the woman’s arms, eyes wide, and beamed when he recognized his father.

“Fah!” he cooed, reaching out, and the brunette passed Artemis to his father without hesitation. Artemis Senior immediately squatted, placing the child firmly on his feet. 

“My, how you’ve grown,” the father observed. “Nearly a man, I’d say.” 

Artemis toddled forward, arms outstretched. “Fah, carry, please!” he squeaked, but Artemis Senior shook his head and grasped the child’s hands instead. The woman with her own infant tittered with the other guests, all impressed at the sentence, but Artemis Senior felt no such awe.

“Now, you’re a year old today, Arty! A man must walk for himself. You don’t see me carrying around my other business associates, do you?” he joked. Little Artemis did not understand most of those words, and he was feeling quite nervous about being at floor level surrounded by so many tall adults, but he did not want to fuss in front of his father. He interacted with Artemis Senior the least of all his caregivers, for he was a busy man. When his father was not away on business trips, he was working in his study or hosting meetings in this very room. Therefore, Artemis felt a combination of adoration and intimidation in the presence of his father and wanted very much to make him proud, even at this young age. He stared at him now, eyes wide and eyebrows furrowed, trying to understand what his father had asked him. 

Artemis Senior smiled warmly. “Let’s say we get to the cake part now, hm?” 

Little Artemis returned the smile hesitantly, and his father stood and guided him towards the large, glass-topped table, stooping to keep hold of Artemis’s hand. Butler followed closely behind and thus knew what was about to happen the moment before it did. Artemis, who was overconfident and inexperienced in many of his skills, attempted to look over his shoulder at his bodyguard for reassurance that the large man was still there. Unfortunately, he was not very well-coordinated, and this distraction caused him to trip over his own feet and slip from his father’s grasp. Little Artemis had not experienced many falls in his twelve months, and here he was on his second of the day. Only this time it was a hardwood floor that rushed towards his delicate head, not a fluffy mountain of pillows. Needless to say, Artemis saw his short life flash before his eyes.

Rather than the hard impact, however, a strong pair of hands wrapped around his waist. More quickly than he could comprehend, Artemis found himself safe in his bodyguard’s familiar arms. Butler had darted forward, swifter than any of the guests could believe, and scooped the child up right before he smacked the hardwood. He looked over Artemis briefly to ensure no damage had been done, while the child stared, too shocked to cry. Artemis Senior peered at his son, nervous for perhaps the first time since the child’s birth, and let out a relieved laugh when he appeared fine. The surrounding guests exhaled.

“And that’s why we employ you,” Artemis Senior said shakily, patting Butler on the arm. “The Fowl boys can be a little _too_ ambitious, sometimes,” he added with more surety, eliciting a chuckle from the guests. 

Angeline rushed over. “Oh, Arty, are you okay?” 

“He is fine. Just a bit surprised,” Butler assured her. At the sight of his mother’s worried face, Artemis understood that he should be upset as well, and his nose scrunched up as a pretense to the fussy whimpering that he occasionally employed rather than juvenile wailing. 

“Aww, come here, sweetheart,” Angeline cooed, lifting the child from the bodyguard’s arms. “Will cake make you feel better?” She did not wait for an answer from the baby, who pressed his face against her neck, upset and embarrassed. Everyone followed Angeline to the head of the table, where she gently lowered Artemis into his luxury custom high chair and brushed her fingers through his fluffy hair in an attempt to fix it. While there was a lavish three-tiered cake available for the guests, a smaller cake had been prepared for Artemis. It was this cake that a maid now positioned in front of the child. Butler hovered over the chair as the maid carefully lit the single candle. Angeline perched herself to Artemis’s left, while his father stood by her side. It took a moment to prepare, but when the cake was ready, Artemis Senior led the party in an enthusiastic rendition of _Happy Birthday._

Even Butler joined in with his gravelly bass voice, smiling slightly at Artemis’s baffled expression. The baby glanced around in confusion, looking to both of his parents for an explanation. They, too, were involved in the collective singing, and Artemis resorted to twisting around in his chair to appeal to his bodyguard for help. When he saw that Butler was also singing, the baby resigned himself to confusion and slumped back into his seat with a frown. Everyone clapped when the song was finished, and Angeline leaned forward, urging Artemis to blow out the candle. When he refused, she did it for him.

Most babies might smash their hands into their birthday cake and rub icing all over their faces, but Artemis would not have done this even if he had realized that it was an option. To be truthful, he was not entirely sure what the cake _was_ , though he liked the shiny golden flakes that decorated the top like snowfall. Angeline had hoped that he might smash his face into the cake, and had a photographer on stand by just in case, but she allowed a maid to cut and serve him a slice when he did not. The other guests migrated towards the larger cake on the buffet table, which was being similarly served. Butler did not sit down to enjoy a slice, but continued his careful guard over the birthday boy, satisfied to watch him pick at his plate. Artemis used utensils, of course, but after only a small nibble of navy blue icing, the child decided that he did not particularly like this dessert. Instead he happily busied himself with separating the golden shavings from the icing and eating them alone. Butler smiled, a nearly imperceptible quirk of his lips, as Artemis worked diligently on the gold flakes. The child was exhausted from all the hubbub, and the stress of so many strangers and near-death experiences was catching up to him as he began to slow down, eyelashes fluttering to stay alert. Butler propped him up with a single hand when Artemis almost tilted face-first into his slice of cake, which would’ve made for a good photo but a very morose baby. Eventually, after sufficient photos had been taken, Angeline allowed Butler to carry the sleepy child back to the nursery. The party continued downstairs as the bodyguard entered the nursery and permitted the evening nanny to run down for a plate of food.

Artemis was barely awake, and by the time Butler had changed him into his soft pajamas and wiped the gold flakes from his face, the child was lost to the land under the hill.

Butler held the sleeping child to his chest as he drew the curtains shut to block out the evening sunlight, then tucked him gently into bed.

He paused to study him for a moment, as always. Artemis was still so small and, in many ways, helpless. And yet he was brighter and more opinionated than most adults Butler had met. His principal was stubborn and often downright grumpy, but sweetly innocent and dangerously curious. The bodyguard had to admit that he was utterly charmed by the charismatic child. And to think, it had only been a year. 

Butler stepped away and returned to his usual post by the window, deep in thought even as he waited, like a snow leopard in the dark, for anyone to attempt to lay a hand on young Artemis.

 _Only a year..._ A whole lifetime’s worth of years lay before him in the crib, curled up in a quilted blanket and dreaming of fairies.


End file.
